


Memory, proper noun of sorrows

by barbie_forevernerd



Series: Love, gender defenseless [1]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family Fluff, Guilt, Love, Lovesick, Poetry, Post Season 4, Regrets, Revelations, So much angst, Tribe Night (Lucifer TV), prayers, smut(just a bit), so much love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23172319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbie_forevernerd/pseuds/barbie_forevernerd
Summary: The prequel to “I don’t just want your heart”.Lucifer may be gone but he remains ever-present in Chloe’s life. Her heart is full to the brim with guilt and love; the more she aches, the more she wants him.She loves him. She misses him. She reads him poetry.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Mazikeen, Chloe Decker & Trixie Decker, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Love, gender defenseless [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665808
Comments: 34
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brokenjaw (Vrael)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrael/gifts).



> So, this thing happened... My few angsty paragraphs turned into a 16k story. This would not have happened without @Brokenjaw. So, darling this is for you. A big hug to all the lovely people in FH for inspiring me and challenging me. And a big thanks to batard_loaf for giving me a hand when I needed help.
> 
> If you enjoy listening to music while reading I mostly listened to “Everybody’s gotta learn sometime” by Beck and “Wire to wire” by Razorlight.  
> This story is complete and will be updated regularly.  
> It has not been betaed!  
> Comments more than make my day!

It's been two months since Lucifer left. Well, sixty-three days to be exact. Chloe wishes every day that she could put her life on hold. Just for a while. Just so she can take a moment in stillness to absorb the reality of her life now. But time, inexorably, stops for no one. And life goes on. (At least, that's what they tell her.)  
  


Chloe wakes up. She gets ready for work. She helps Trixie get ready for school. She prepares some sort of breakfast. She drives Trixie to school, goes to the precinct. Sometimes there is a body and the familiar steps of carrying out an investigation (she always follows her instincts like he urged her to, and she tries not to let her colleagues see how much she is missing his eggs-both in her closing-rate and in her life). Other times it's just paperwork, mind-numbing as always with no distractions anymore. She returns home. Sometimes she suffers through Maze's cooking (yes, Trixie has guilt tripped Maze into cooking), others she cooks and more often than she would like to admit, there's takeout.  
She makes sure Trixie is set for school the next day. They read books or watch films. They cuddle. She smiles, but her eyes don’t. She pretends not to notice Trixie's concerned glances. They go to bed. Sometimes she cries into her pillow, silent as a mouse. Others, she sleeps like the dead.  
The sun goes up again.

The loop resets.

At least, that’s what Maze thinks. Their days bunch up together, becoming slightly unidentifiable, colorless and drab.  
  


It's been about a month in, on a Saturday when Chloe wakes Trixie up for school, that Maze decides that enough is _enough_.  
She waits until Dan picks the little one up some time later. Then she takes a few deep breaths like Linda has taught her. She needs to be calm and considerate. _Empathetic_. She empties half a bottle of vodka with a few swallows and stalks towards her prey. She walks right up to her and Chloe looks at her, confused.  
“What's up Μaze? Something you need?” She doesn’t really look at her, focusing her attention on the clothes before her.  
“Damn right I do! It's time for zombie Chloe to kiss us _the fuck_ goodbye.”  
Chloe stares back at her, blue eyes dull. Maybe once her tone would have scared her but she knows better now. 

"Maze I have a ton of things to do, because _my roommate_ is unaware of the necessity of chores, and I am really not in the mood for this," she says turning back to the basket overflowing with laundry.  
"Oh no you don't!" Maze yanks her roughly by her arm. Chloe clenches her jaw, more annoyed than anything else.

"This has gone on for too long. You need to shake it off. Yell, cry, whine, _hit someone_ , anything but this! Trix needs her mother back. Not a ghost version of her." Chloe’s eyes flash angrily at that, a real emotion finally coloring her face.  
"You do not get to criticize my parenting skills!" she huffs angrily.  
"Oh really? Then pull your shit together. Because your daughter is worried about you and she spends her nights crying because she doesn't know how to help you!"  
Chloe stares at her and tries to keep her tears at bay. She can’t help but wonder how true that is.

"You think you are the only one that misses him? Boo-fucking hoo. _Millennia_ Chloe. We spent fucking millennia at each other's side. You think it’s easy for me? Knowing that he is there facing those shitheads alone? Without me?"  
"You think ...he's in danger?" She asks in a small voice, cold dread washing over her.  
"No I— that's not what I meant. I was his right-hand demon since the very beginning. I mean-I should be there. I am no longer under oath, but Lucifer... He was my family back when I didn't know that I wanted or needed one." They look at each other for a long moment. And then Maze does the (almost) unthinkable. She pulls Chloe roughly to her, wrapping her arms around her.

"You can cry, you know," she says awkwardly. Chloe laughs, a weak, wheezing thing and says,

"I see someone's been talking to Linda."  
"Well what do you think we do every time you don't show up for tribe night?" Chloe pulls back, wiping away stray tears and shrugs.

"I don't know... Drink? Have fun? "  
“No way Decker! We talk shit about you! And you know what?" Suddenly her phone is in her hand, _where does she keep_ that?, and she's typing away furiously. "Tonight is officially tribe night at our house!" Chloe tenses but Mazikeen grabs her upper arm and squeezes, her dark eyes full of promises.  
"Yell, cry, whine, drink and hit anything you want- in a safe, judgment free environment. But after that, I need you back Decker."  
She feels scared and uneasy but begrudgingly nods her acquiescence. She doesn't want to do this-doesn't want to bare this festering wound to anyone, but maybe she must. For Trixie's sake, if not for hers.  
"I’ll go get alcohol. Do not run off. I _will_ track you down."  
"Someone has to clean this house if we’re going to have people over," Chloe says.  
"Awww! You’re already nagging!" Maze says with a hand over her heart and a sappy smile. "That's the spirit Decker!" And she disappears as suddenly as she had appeared.  
"Stupid demons," she mutters to no one in particular as she picks up the vacuum.

She dusts and she vacuums and she sweeps the floors. This Stepfordy obsessive behavior reminds her of a time she would much rather forget.

 _Candy_. Ugh.

It is almost funny how sour such a sweet word can taste in her mouth.

She has cleaned the kitchen cabinets and she is doing the fridge by the time Maze returns with a total of three large canvas bags, which give a satisfying glass rattling as she deposits them on the counter.

“Honey, I’m home,” she deadpans with a gleam in her eyes. “The others should be here soon.” She leans in and sniffs at Chloe. “Maybe you should take a shower. The others may not appreciate your… muskiness as much,” Chloe sniffs surreptitiously her t-shirt. She _is_ kind of sweaty.

“Fine,” she says and starts putting the racks back in the fridge.

“I brought this for you,” Maze says and Chloe turns to see what she is referring to. She glares at the expensive bottle sitting on the counter as if it had bitten her. “Took it from his secret stash. As if he could ever hide anything from me! For an archangel he can be pretty dumb sometimes. Anyway I thought you might like it.”

“Um, thanks,” she says through a clenched jaw and hurries to her room. The water in the shower washes away her tears, but there will always be more, won’t there? That moment she is grateful to Maze. As loath as she is to admit it, she is right. She needs to open up, to share, to vent. Because right now she feels like she is coming apart at the seams-and not in a good way. All these suppressed feelings, crowding under her skin, are suffocating her.

When she goes back downstairs both Linda and Ella have come. 

Ella, with her big, dark eyes bright, looks so hopeful with a half-smile on her face. Her hands are carefully restrained in her back pockets and Chloe feels a stab of guilt (as if she needs more) for all the times she turned down her friend’s attempts at consoling her. She has not been a good friend. She opens her arms, hoping it’s not too late, and Ella tackles her into the sofa. They hug and they laugh and maybe this time the wetness in her eyes is not born out of pain. Maze grabs Linda and they fall onto them in a semblance of a group hug. There are groans and there are laughs and eventually Chloe finds enough courage to speak.

“Thank you for coming tonight. I know I have been a bad friend and quite frankly I am not sure I deserve this”, she gestures around them and their tight fit in the three seater. “I am not sure I deserve you.”  
“It’s not about deserving. It’s about the people you choose to have in your life. It’s about the people you choose to… love.” They all stare at Maze awestruck and Ella almost face plants on the floor in an effort to hug her. She ends up lying horizontally on their laps, her head on Maze’s thighs with a huge smile on her face.

“Maze, that was very beautiful. I am so… proud of you,” Linda sniffles loudly and they all turn to look at her. “These damn hormones I swear to G—Shit! And I’m not even breastfeeding anymore.”

“Drinks?” Ella offers and their night begins.

“Okay, we all know the main topic of this tribe night. Even if it is against the rules. Lu-ci-fer. Chloe? Wanna go first?” Ella asks.

“Um, not really, no.” Maze throws a pillow at her. It hits her square on the cheek.

“Ow,” she says through a glare at Maze.

“Chloe you have to try. It is not healthy keeping all those feelings bottled up. Start with something simple, something small.”

“Fine... I miss him. I miss him a lot. Like an inordinate amount.”

“I miss him too Chlo. Not that it’s the same, but I do miss him. He is my friend.”

“I miss the bastard too,” Maze says.

“I lost my most fascinating client and a dear friend. Lucifer was… one of a kind. I just wished that he knew how much he is missed.”

“What is his deal anyway? Why did he leave like that? He didn’t even say goodbye! He didn’t even take his phone!”

“There wouldn’t be much use for it. No reception in Hell Ella.”

“Oh, are we really keeping up his charade even if he’s gone? I mean… come on you guys! So, why did he have to leave? Does anyone really knοw?”

“When will you finally open your ears and your eyes?” Maze asks exasperated.

“Is his family like mafia or something? Because that would explain all the money.” Ella looks around expectantly waiting for a confirmation.

“Fuck this!” Maze stands up, anger and irritation rolling off of her in waves. “He is the _Devil_ Ella! He left because stupid _demons_ started coming to earth and he wanted to protect your dumb asses!”

“Um. _Okay_ Maze. And you were forged in the bowels of hell to torture the guilty for all eternity. _I remember_.”

“You think this is a joke?” she asks, voice menacingly quiet. “Oh, Ellen,” she whispers and moves closer to Ella. “I’ll show you baby!”

“No,” shout Linda and Chloe simultaneously, their hands on her restraining. Ella stands stock-still, surprised and a little scared, trying to understand what the hell is happening.

“Fine,” Maze concedes. “I have to take a piss anyway,” she says and walks away.

“Um, what was that?” she asks wide-eyed. “I mean, why did she get so aggressive? And why does she insist on this… metaphor?”

“Ella…” Chloe thinks about lying, spinning the tale some more, but the words taste like ash in her mouth. “Lucifer was always who he claimed to be. Exactly as you came to know him.” Ella looks at her with a forced smile on her face.

“Come on Chlo, are you telling me that _our_ Lucifer, that prissy, vain, sweet and awesome man, is actually _the_ Devil? The Biblical one? Pfft.” When her chortles are met with silence and solemn faces, Ella’s hand flies to the cross around her neck. “For reals?”

“Yeap,” Maze pipes in from behind, making her jump.

“Holy shit,” Ella says and her eyes go slightly glassy. “Holy shit! _Holy shit_!”

“Ella?” Linda asks concerned. They share a look with Chloe. They both know how disturbing it can be to find out that all of it is true. At least Ella was spared the visuals.

“Oh, Ellen! How very accurate! Lucifer _can_ be a shit and he _is_ holy, so…”

“Those weren’t blanks,” she whispers to herself, lost in memories. “And all those feathers and the blood stain pattern **,”** she looks at Chloe, eyes wide **,** “The Mayan? Oh God. Oh _God!”_

There is nothing but the sound of their breaths as they look at each other. Ella’s eyes finally land on Maze and she looks at her with a newfound appreciation.

“I think I need more alcohol,” she confesses in a small voice.

“Yeah you do Ella,” Maze agrees, handing her a bottle of tequila.

“I just… I feel so stupid and ridiculous. _Method actor_. I just can't.... When did you guys found out?”  
“At the Pierce debacle. He was... He was leaning over the body but when he turned he was... different. Terrifying to look at. All those burns... And those eyes…”  
“Oh yeah,” Linda agrees, the image of his other face forever etched in her memory.  
“You’ve seen him too?”  
“I more or less forced him to show me. I froze. Almost went catatonic. Avoided the both of them for some time. But, with some help I came to realize that they were the same dysfunctional... people that I had always known,” she explains with a fond smile to Maze.  
“Burns... Because he was literally thrown out of heaven and into hell. Through ... dimensions? Different planes of existence? I have so many questions... And well, if we are to believe the stories Lucifer was... The light-bringer. The creator of the stars. Lux fero. The bringer of light.”  
“Lux-fero.... So Lux…”  
“Means light. Yeah. So, the devil _does_ get a bad rep, after all,” Ella says thoughtful.  
Chloe bursts into tears; Ella’s simple acceptance makes her want to choke on them. She can feel their hands patting, holding, hugging and it only makes her want to cry harder. Which she does. Ugly, heaving sobs that suffocate her.

And all she can feel is perverse satisfaction over her suffering.  
_The other side of me it’s bad, it's monstrous…  
_She didn't realize at that time that the true monster was her. She does now though.  
  


"I am a horrible person!" She wails into her arms, her words barely discernible through her sobs. "A horrible friend. The worst..."  
"What is she talking about?" Ella asks, trying to make sense of her sudden outburst.  
"She was so scared when she found out that she went all _exorcist undercover_ on Lucifer's ass." Ella's eyebrows climb up to her hairline and that reaction only results in a fresh bout of sobs for Chloe.  
"Oh Decker don't be so melodramatic. Yeah, you made some stupid-ass choices but you're not horrible. A bit cultist maybe?" Maze jokes and Chloe glares at her through her tears.  
"Chloe, these were decisions made under tremendous stress and mind-numbing fear. Trust me, I _know_ the feeling. You were vulnerable, hurt and confused and someone decided to take advantage of that. Of you. It was hardly surprising that you made some poor choices," Linda tries to comfort her.  
"You were terrified but you didn't go after him. I pretended Linda. I _lied_ again and again. And I told him all those terrible things..."  
"So... That month you were away...”  
“I visited Rome and the Vatican and...”  
“And got a bit brainwashed,” Maze supplies sardonically.  
“So wait... At the Cabin case when you were supposed to go on a date... You were pretending?” Chloe nods, her face drawn with guilt.  
“Oh man! The poor guy. He was so excited about that. I mean he- you know what? Maybe I shouldn't say,” Ella backtracks, mashing her lips together.  
“Oh come on Ellen. Just spit it out.”  
Chloe looks hopefully at her, hungry for any tidbit of information concerning him.  
“Um… he was going to take you to the opera. In San Francisco. He had booked a helicopter and gotten you _the_ most _amazin_ g dress. But then, well you cancelled and he... He sent me and my abuela instead. He was really giving you know?” Chloe remembers his excitement, his child-like impatience. Her accusations.

She is absolutely furious. At herself.

“He _is_! He is dammit! Don't talk about him as if he’s dead," she yells, her fury finding some sort of outlet.  
“That's it Decker! Let it out!" Maze calls out excitedly. “Wanna hit something?” Chloe ignores her.  
“He is gone in that awful place he hates and I will never see him again and it's all my damn fault!”  
“Don't take all the credit! Others chipped in significantly,” Maze adds, pain blooming inside her at the thought of those _others._  
“If I hadn't gone to Italy none of that would have happened.”  
“The demons were getting restless. This was bound to happen eventually.”  
“Just when- just when..." Her angry momentum is all spent up and all she is left with is this gaping hole inside her "It took me so long... And when I was finally able to love him, all of him..." she buries her face in her hands absolutely crestfallen, brokenhearted beyond repair.  
“Chloe dear, it was not your fault. It wasn't. This, everything that happened near the end was the culmination of many bad choices made by different people. This was in no way your doing. Please don't think so. You don't need all this guilt weighing over you.”  
“That's right Decker. It's your own conscience that chooses your... future destination. And even if heaven is full of self-entitled feathered pricks...you don't belong in hell. So shake it off.”  
“Okay, this is definitely TMI." Ella says with a trembling voice. "So if we feel guilty we..." She points to the floor with a slightly horrified expression.  
"Relax Ellen, you’ll be fine. Shit. This is not what I thought tonight was going to be,” Maze grumbles.  
“I don't think any of us expected such a ... development,” Linda says rubbing her eyes.  
“I just wanted Decker to vent so that she can return to her normal uptight self. Maybe even share some of your sex dreams...” She winks at Chloe and Chloe again ignores her. She turns to Ella.

“I did not expect this either. But I am glad you know Ella. This dancing around can finally stop.”

“Chloe… this sucks but it's what we have been dealt with. I know it's hard, to think you have something within your grasp and lose it altogether... But it's our reality. We have to make do with it.”  
“You are right Maze. You are. I just… miss him so much. And there is so much I wanted to tell him....”  
“So pray to him,” Maze says easily.  
“Prayers are real? I mean _real_ real?”  
“Well Ella, if the holy bastard you are praying to is willing to listen... Yeah… More tequila?”  
_“Please_ ,” she begs and their drinking resumes.

It’s a while later when Chloe remembers something that Ella said. Despite her drunken haze, it feels important.

“Ella… what did you mean before when you said something about feathers?”

“Feathers?”

“Yeap. And blood.”

“Oh. Oh!” Ella has suddenly reanimated. “The crime scene-when Pierce died- was _so_ weird. So many casings but no bullets and a bloodstain pattern that could not be explained. Unless…. I mean one explanation would be to have wings. Like, really big ones. Which would actually explain all those bloodied feathers.”

“Wings?” Chloe asks, and she can see them. Wide, beautiful, luminescent. And she remembers him complaining about his wings, which he had somehow gotten back. Which means that he had actually cut them off. In all her mind-numbing terror she had never stopped to think about all _these_. Now she finds that the concept is too big to fit in her already overflowing brain.

“Chloe!” Ella is snapping her fingers in front of her. “I think he saved your life.” Ella is standing on the sofa trying to demonstrate. She pushes Maze up and stands behind her, folding her arms in a lose circle around her protectively. “See? I think he wrapped you in his wings when the shooting began. That would explain why there were no actual bullets found and well… the blood.”

She is crying again, silently this time, tears that feel like acid, burning holes into her skin.

“I mean…. I knew he was crazy about you, but this? This is just a whole other level!”

“Where’s the whiskey?” Chloe asks, wiping her tears and snot on her shirt. He would be _appalled_.

“Chloe maybe that’s enough?” Linda interjects; they have gone through seven bottles already.

“Let her drink,” Maze says, providing the bottle.

She doesn’t remember anything after that.


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories keep haunting Chloe and she decides to follow Maze's advice.  
> But what words, what comfort could she offer the Devil ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are much appreciated!

Besides the raging hangover, tribe night has gifted her with _so much_.

All her heartache, love and guilt have bubbled up to the surface and she feels raw, like a wound whose surface has been scraped clean, leaving behind red, mangled, bleeding flesh.

She learns to live with it, hard as it may be.

Now that she has come to accept and embrace this constant emotional torrent, she finds Lucifer everywhere. He is always there at the stupid vending machine whenever she tries to get a stale sandwich to eat. Half the times she ends up with cool ranch puffs instead. He is there at her, now thriving, succulent. She is almost tempted to pour some alcohol instead of water to restore it to its former state of decay. He is constantly present in the stations that he had stored in her cruiser’s stereo and every time she listens to a damn piano. In the few stars she can see in the LA sky and she wonders if it is true; if he was indeed the Lightbringer. And then it’s a whole new descend into despair as she regrets all the questions she did ask, _All those people you tortured, did you enjoy it?,_ and all those she didn’t.

She thinks of Maze’s offhand suggestion and she feels butterflies erupting in her stomach; it’s a heady combination of excitement and fear and it is much preferable to the constant weight of pain and mournfulness that sits on her heart. She is hesitant to ask Maze for more details; is there a format, a set of rules that she must follow to do it properly? There is only one person, or rather angel that could help. She calls Amenadiel.

They are not as comfortable with each other as they used to. Amenadiel had been patient with her never-ending questioning even if there was no resolution in sight. Even if she had indirectly accused him of abandoning his brother to his fate.

Obviously she had trouble coping. (She stood by her ground though-at least to a degree.)

So, they share an uneasy conversation with Chloe asking politely for clarifications and Amenadiel hesitantly providing the answers. He is supportive despite not being completely on board with her intentions.

“Don’t misunderstand me Chloe. I care for my brother deeply-much more than I ever thought I would. My interaction with humanity has broadened my ability to empathize and well… love. I do want this for him-it will bring him great comfort while it lasts. But I worry about you. I don’t want this… communication to raise false hopes concerning his return. My brother’s decision made me both proud of him but heartsick as well, because I know it wasn’t easy for him. Luci was never the self-sacrificing type but well, there was good reason for it this time. As long as the danger remains Lucifer won’t return. I just… want you to be happy I guess. He would too, I am certain of it.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I am not ready to let go. And this… I believe this will bring me some kind of happiness. Especially if you think it will be good for him too.”

“I told you I am certain of it,” he reassures with a soft, sad smile.

She thinks about it. Acts out long monologues in her head, compiling words together, trying to express her feelings; this tangled impossible mess that rests under her breastbone. Nothing feels adequate. Lucifer was always the one with the glib tongue, able to sweet talk anyone into anything. She was just there for the ride. She squeezes and squeezes her mind but she comes up spectacularly empty.

What can she say to him? What comfort could her dry words possibly offer?

Trixie, like a powerful ex-machina, offers the solution.

“Mum! Our new teacher is amazing!” she exclaims with uncontained excitement.

“Oh yeah?” she offers, preoccupied with the tomato sauce on the stove.

“Yes! She is young and British and she sounds a little like Lucifer.” Trixie doesn’t often mention him or ask about him-not after seeing the devastated look it brings forth on her mother’s face. “We talked about literature, um, rhyming and poetry and she showed us how language, um no, how the _syllables_ were used to make music!”

“Wow,” she says, less excited than her daughter, wondering if that is actually part of their curriculum.

“Here, let me show you!” Trixie, who is literally buzzing with her eagerness to share whatever it is that she has learnt, digs into her backpack looking for something. She returns with her notebook and searches for her notes.

“They counted the syllables to make their words more musical; like a heartbeat, ba-Boom, ba-Boom, ba-Boom,” her hand beats rhythmically on her breastbone in clear imitation of what she was shown.

“That does sound interesting,” she comments, happy to see Trixie so enamored with something new.

“Here, I’ll show you!” She looks at her notes again, her hand waiting on her chest and recites,

“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”

Her voice rises and falls awkwardly, trying to maintain the rhythm, but she looks and sounds so adorable reciting poetry that Chloe’s heart blooms with affection for her not so little monkey.

“Monkey that was beautiful! You have more?”

“Oh yes! Wait…” she looks again and her lips form the syllables silently.

“And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;  
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,  
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,  
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep.”

The words feel foreign and heavy on Trixie’s tongue, but that’s not what Chloe focuses on; there is beauty in the carefully chosen words and a tentative musicality that lacks actual notes but not the _feeling_. An idea starts taking form in her mind.

“Trixie-babe that is an A+ for effort and dedication! You were amazing!”

“Thanks Mom,” she says, her cheeks blushing lightly. “I really like Ms K. So, what are you cooking?”

Chloe Decker is a Detective. That is her profession. Her title. But it is so much more than that. For Chloe, it is part of her DNA makeup; right there among the As, Cs and Gs of her code, a gift bestowed upon her by her father, along with the sharp angles of her face and the blue of her eyes.

So, it is no wonder that she takes a professional approach to this specific research. _Poetry_. It must be kept low profile so she starts researching at night, in the sanctuary of her bedroom, with at least one police report open waiting among the other tabs. She spends hours poring over sites and forums about poetry. She browses Pinterest which in turn leads her to Tumblr. With her trusted notepad by her side, she jots down names and titles. Wherever she is though, either at home or the precinct, she always deletes her browsing history, unwilling to share with anyone her sad foray into poetry. When she has gathered enough names, she feels ready to order some collections and get this thing started, but at the last moment she decides against it. Having tangible evidence of her intentions seems like a bad idea. Instead, she turns her notepad into a collection of love poems and quotes that she unearths from various sites. She finds it imperative to have a bank of at least fifteen decent poems before she starts reciting. (A part of her is brave enough to admit that she is procrastinating, terrified of his rejection even in this. But what constitutes a bleak drawback to the whole prayer affair, is at the same time an emboldening advantage; there can be no answer to her prayers. Of that much she is certain.)

Days come and go. Her collection grows but the timing is _never_ right.  
  


It's Friday night. Trixie has already left, spending the weekend with Dan, and Mazikeen is about to leave for Lux; playing at hostess is not really her thing and she makes a very poor substitute for the previous owner but well, needs must and all that.  
  


"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Maze asks again.  
"Yeap. I want to finish these chores. Besides it's tribe night tomorrow, two late nights in a row?" She scrunches up her nose in distaste. "No, thank you."  
"Well, enjoy your evening grannypants!" Chloe very elegantly gives her the finger and proceeds with loading the dishwasher.   
About an hour later, she’s pouring herself a glass of Lucifer's finest whiskey in her favourite mug and she’s ready to pick something to watch from her Netflix account when she notices a pile of Trixie’s books on the floor. Feeling a bit exasperated at her daughter, she picks them up to put them away. But Trixie’s bookcase is a mess. And that's putting it mildly. She almost takes everything down but then decides against it. Trixie is not a baby. Instead-very childishly-she tries to push the books in one of the overstuffed shelves even if there is no space. With no success, she chucks them carelessly on the top shelf, causing the precariously placed stack of board games to topple over her head.  
"Shit," she cries, rubbing the back of her skull. "I should have just left them on the freaking floor.” She gets down on her knees, trying to collect the various pieces that are now strewn on the floor. When she has gathered most of it, she stands up, more than ready for that whiskey, and steps, barefoot as she is, on something very small, pointy and cold. She curses profusely and picks up the offending object. Her eyes fill with tears and she closes her fingers tenderly around it. She stares at it affectionately, brings it to her lips, a barely there kiss, and puts it back into the monopoly box.  
In a very Lucifer fashion she downs the whiskey with three long pulls. She pours some more, drinks that too and walks up to her bedroom. She paces around like a big caged cat, agitated and full of nervous energy **.**  
  


"I miss you," she offers into the silence. "And I don't know how to do this. What if you hate it? Just another torment in the kingdom of torture, and this one specifically designed for its king!" She lets out a nervous laugh, almost a cackle, and pulls a little at her hair. She feels like crying, _again_. But then Amenadiel’s words echo in her mind and her nerves settle a little.  
"Oh, just grow a fucking pair,” she growls at herself and with a trembling hand she takes the notepad out of its hiding place. She skims through the poems, trying to decide what to read to him. Once again, she decides to follow her gut. Her heart starts to race in her ribcage; how many mistakes is it possible to make with your inner voice? Can it tremble too? She pushes her hands under her chin like Amenadiel showed her and with a deep and not at all calming breath, invokes his name.  
  


_Lucifer,_ _  
If you can hear me- I shouldn't - arg crap- this is for you._

_  
Somewhere on the other side of this wide night and the distance between us, I am thinking of you. The room is turning slowly away from the moon.  
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.  
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross  
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this is what it is like _

_or what it is like in words._ _  
_ A pause.

_I love you._ _  
  
_

Her hands drop in her lap. Those last words slipped out- she didn't mean to say that too.  
She knows there can be no answer. But she didn't expect the pain of it to cut so deep. She touches the bullet necklace that rests on her breastbone, feeling an incongruous combination of elation and anguish.  
_There you go, you bastard,_ she thinks to herself _. Now you know. It's not over. Not for me_.  
She surrenders to Morpheus's arms with tears on her face and butterflies in her stomach.  
  


The next morning she doesn't feel lighter or happier. But she does feel better; better for acknowledging in some way this terrible, inconsolable yearning she feels, for finding a way to funnel all these unaddressed emotions that are clogging her up. Even if this is going to be no more than a long, lonely soliloquy, it feels far more bearable than her self-imposed silence.  
  
That day she finds it almost impossible to concentrate. Her mind is filled to the brim with him. Did he like it? Did he hear it? Did he find it stupid? Cheesy? Was he surprised? Did he think she might have forgotten him already? She goes for a run, a desperate attempt to clear her head but Lucifer is there as well, very much present in the songs he had chosen for her- for a date that seems lifetimes ago and feels tangled up with so much guilt and pain that her stomach twists itself around and around until she can't run anymore because of the nausea.  
  


She remembers when Maze had thrown his phone into her lap, muttering how he would have wanted her to have it. Chloe was so furious with Maze’s attitude back then that she can still feel the sharp metallic taste of her anger under her tongue. Lucifer hadn't even been gone for a month and she was already going through his personal belongings, (it was _after_ the expressed permission had been given by a bunch of lawyers, but still), and had readily accepted. . .well whatever it was that he had left her **.**

There had been not even an inkling of doubt, for Lucifer's word was his bond.

_Goodbye._

She had been so terribly mad. He wasn't dead yet all the people that mattered, those who knew, were acting as if he was! But she couldn’t. She still refused to talk to his lawyers even if they kept pestering her with calls. And it took her almost a month to get handsy with his phone. His password was a pentagram. How… _unorigina_ l. She was listed as _the Detective_ of course. She could almost feel his voice wrap around the syllables in her mind. Not a single text was missing from their string of text messages. Completely identical to her own. And then there was the Music. Playlists of sweet nineties jams that he had assembled for her.

She walks back to the house, both physically and emotionally drained. And it’s tribe night tonight.

_Lovely, just lovely._ _  
  
_

The lights on the ceiling of the club glimmer like little stars, offering their light even when some of them are already gone forever. Her eyes sweep over the space taking in the details once more. Not much has changed, but to her the difference is stark. With its brightest star gone, Lux feels terribly muted. It seems empty and well, not joyless, but definitely lacking. It’s no surprise really. Lucifer brought everything to life; even half-abandoned, isolated and awfully sensible detectives.

It’s the first time she has come here since his departure. The penthouse might be technically hers (according to Maze at least) but she has not found the courage to return. Well, until tonight that is. She keeps looking around, memories fluttering about in her mind, stinging her like angry bees with all the what-ifs.

She blinks quickly, forcing back tears, and turns to the bar. “So, what are we drinking?” **  
  
**

She’s in her fourth drink, a fruity cocktail that goes down way too easily, when Linda sidles up to her.

“It’s so strange, you know. Being here without him.” She looks at her friend who can’t really stop being a doctor the way she can’t stop being a detective. But she’s drunk enough not to mind Linda’s attempts at therapizing.

“It feels… less. And my head feels too crowded.”

“Oh. How so?” she asks pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

 _Hello Doctor_.

(She doesn’t know whether to feel happy or disturbed that her inner voice has started to sound a lot like Lucifer.)

“Um, too many memories vying for my attention. Both good and bad. Those last months… even when I was trying to patch things up… I still managed to hurt him.”

Linda takes her hand in hers and smiles sadly.

“I shouldn’t be saying this-you know patient-doctor confidentiality, but it’s not as if you don’t _know_. Lucifer… He had a lot of issues. Like _a lot_! You mustn’t blame yourself for everything.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know exactly what to blame myself for,” she says casually, her eyes drawn to the top of the stairs. And that kiss.

“Chloe, I thought you were past this,” Linda says with a deep frown on her face. It looks comical combined with her drunken expression. And Chloe doesn’t really know what to say. How to get rid of all these regrets.

“Lucifer wouldn’t want you to harbor all this guilt,” she says meaningfully. Yes. Because guilt eventually lands you in hell, as she has been told.

And that is bad now, _how exactly?_

“Well, it looks like neither of us is getting what they want.” She has found that owning up to her feelings makes things more tolerable. So yes, she can admit that among other things she is feeling bitter. Spiteful. Mostly at herself.

“I think we need to have this conversation again when I am sober.”

“Linda, really, I am fine.” Linda stares unconvinced. “Well, better anyway. It’s just this place! It’s too much.”

Linda is about to answer when her phone starts vibrating between their drinks. Chloe can see Amenadiel’s name flashing on the screen and she thanks… _somebody_ for that perfectly ill-timed interruption. And all Chloe can see in her mind’s eye is Lucifer moving his hand suggestively up and down with a sharp grin on his face saying,

_Saved by the bell Detective!  
  
_

When she’s in bed that night, her face smudged with make-up and her heart lovesick, she thinks of an empty Lux; of twinkling lights and golden confetti and eyes as dark and bright as a starry night in the desert. Now, she understands why he hadn’t kissed her that night. Why, some time later those eyes had begged her to believe, to understand, to accept.

Eyes that saw only her.

Now, she would give anything to have those eyes look at her again; brown or red, she doesn’t care. Both belong to him.

She pulls out her notepad and takes a few breaths to steady herself.

_Lucifer,_

_If I could, I’d bottle up the way you look at me. And I would open it whenever I feel I need a kiss or maybe a little boost of confidence. If I could I’d take that look and wear it like a sweater and although feeling this way all the time would be nice, having you here would be better._

_I miss you so much_

She hugs a pillow to herself and tries to dream of him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first poem is "Words, Wide Night" by Carol Ann Duffy  
> and the second is by kpk found on tumbr https://ipoetried.tumblr.com/
> 
> Trixie recites the beginning of Shakespeare's sonnet "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"  
> and a part of Act 3 from "A Midsummer Night's Dream"
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Trixie asks a question, Chloe comes face to face with rather... shocking revelations.

"Chloe!" The volume and tone (and the way it's dragged out into three syllables) make her jump in her seat. Dan is looking at her from across his desk, a frown on his face. "Where did you go?" He is no longer hidden under the stairs-no longer necessary with no Lucifer around to annoy him.  
"Nowhere. I was just thinking." Technically that's not a lie.  
"So, are you all set for taco Tuesday?"

“Absolutely,” she smiles and returns to the open file on her computer screen. She fills in the blanks meticulously with verses dancing around in her head.

_Lucifer,_

_All the words that I gather, and all the words that I write, must spread out their wings untiring, and never rest in their flight; till they come where your sad, sad heart is, and sing to you in the night, beyond where the waters are moving, storm darkened or starry bright._

_I miss you_

It’s one of those days, when Chloe has managed to return home relatively early. Trixie is all done with her homework and begs for cuddling and a film. It’s not hard to say yes, even if it’s something they usually do at the weekends.

“Can we watch Beauty and the Beast?”  
“Again? Aren't you a bit older for this compulsive re-watching monkey?”  
“You can't call me monkey and expect me to act all grown up. It's that or Frozen.”  
It often scares her how manipulative her child can be.  
“Fine, Beauty and the Beast it is. Should I order pizza?”  
“Yes! And can we have some ice cream later?” She is so hopefully excited that she finds it impossible to say no.  
“Yes, we can monkey.”  
  


Once the order is done, they cuddle up on the sofa to enjoy the film.  
They are half way through it when Chloe realizes that Trixie keeps stealing glances at her. Trixie is rarely reserved or hesitant. Whatever it is that she wants to ask must be difficult.  
Probably sex. Maybe someone asked her out? How much _did_ she miss out during those zombie weeks? Did she ask Maze for advice because she was too distant and lost in her head? What did Maze tell her? Her palms are suddenly sweaty and _is that her heart beating like a drum in her ears_?  
“Mom?”  
“Yeah baby?” Her throat feels as dry as the Sahara. She might be a little terrified. Okay, a lot.  
“I want to ask you something but you have to promise not to freak out.”  
“Freak out? Why would I freak out?” Oh boy, she is _so_ freaking out. Trixie stares doubtfully.  
“Moooooom,” she whines, “you are already freaking out. Please! You have to promise.” Those big, brown eyes will be her undoing.  
Chloe takes a few deep breaths. _Whatever it is, you can do it Decker_. _You catch murderers for a living._ _  
_ “Baby I promise you can ask me whatever you want. Anything at all and I won't ever freak out. I am always here for anything, ok Trixie-babe?”  
“Okay,” Trixie nods pacified. “Have you seen Lucifer's face?”  
“What?” Chloe blinks rapidly, completely blindsided. Maybe a little paler, too.  
"Have you seen his other face? Don't-don’t lie to me or play dumb. That would be worse,” she looks so serious with that deep v between her dark eyebrows. “I’ve seen his eyes you know,” Trixie offers, her whole expression suddenly challenging.  
“His eyes?” Her voice might be trembling.  
“How they glow red? I was a little scared but I knew he wouldn't hurt us.”  
“When was that baby?” She can hardly get the words out.  
“You know, when Malcolm had taken me to that hanger-place,” Trixie says as calm and composed as if they were discussing tomorrow’s dinner.  
Years. Trixie has known for _years_. It's no wonder she always went along with his claims.  
“Why didn't you tell me Trix?”  
“I didn't think you would believe me. And then Amenadiel was there to guard you at the hospital-because you know he’s also an angel—“  
“ _What_?” She means to yell but the voice comes out as no more than a whisper.  
“Mom. You promised you wouldn't freak out.”  
Chloe bites the inside of her lip, holding back tears and nods.  
“Okay, okay. You’re right. But Trixie, baby I can't tell you how... stunned I am by this ...revelation. Are you- are you okay?”  
“Yeah I am fine. So have you?”  
Chloe takes a deep breath and decides to go with honesty.  
“I have.”  
“What is it like? I bet it's so cool.”  
“Aren't you frightened?” She sounds excited. Hasn’t the horrified expression on her mother’s face discouraged this…. curiosity?  
“No, not really. I’ve seen Maze’s face. It was a little scary but mostly weird,” she confesses casually and Chloe finally understands the expression _going nuclear_. She really wants to go fucking nuclear on Maze’s ass.  
“You have seen Maze’s face,” she enunciates every syllable, hoping for a denial but none comes. “Of course you have. When?” She can feel whatever is left of her cool facade melting away, like cheap plastic. She wonders what her face will look like after it’s gone.  
“Um, it was Halloween, three years ago? Maybe more?”  
“Okay, okay.” She stands up and starts pacing, rubbing rough circles at her temples.  
“So,” her voice is trembling. She takes a couple of deep breaths. She could yell some more. Demand that she had talked to her mother. But would she have believed her? No.

As harsh as it is, it’s the truth. She would have reduced her claims to childish ramblings. She can still choose to end this conversation and pretend like it never happened. Stick her head into the sand, like she always did.

She does none of the above.  
“So, you know. We both know.” She sits on the sofa again facing her. “I saw Lucifer's face about a year ago. I was scared Trix. So scared.”  
“He can't be _that_ scary mom. You see all those awful things every day. And besides you knew it was him, right? Our Lucifer.” Her words slip out so effortlessly and she wishes she could have shared this unprejudiced innocence.  
“Adults baby have a different way of processing things. I was scared by his other face but mostly I was awestricken by the fact that he was real. _The actual devil_. That the creature from the scriptures was real. I was terrified by the consequences of this reveal. Heaven and hell, God, angels... All real. It was a concept I could not quite grasp. And you know the kind of things they say about the devil. _The origin of evil_.” Should she be even saying these things to her daughter? Cat’s definitely out of the bag now.  
“Gee mom, do you believe everything you read?” Trixie asks with an eye-roll and just like that the tension dissipates and Chloe can't help herself. She bursts out laughing. Trixie joins in. Eventually though, her laughter dies out and they both pretend that the tear tracks down her cheeks are merely a by-product of their giggles.  
“Is that why you couldn't be his friend? Because you were afraid?”  
“In a way monkey, yes.” She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, trying desperately not to cry again. “I found it very hard to accept him, all of him, and I think I may have broken his heart. I didn't mean to.”  
Such sweet lies to cover up the bitter truth. Is this what she really wants?  
“That's not quite the whole truth. I met some people who had this… _idea_ about Lucifer and they put these awful thoughts in my head. I did think about hurting him, in a way. I thought that it would be for everyone's sake, you know babe? That I would be helping people, protecting them. I didn't do anything in the end. But when Lucifer found out, he was really hurt.”  
“Oh Mom. I’m so sorry. Did you apologize to him?”  
Did she? She can't remember. All she can see from that night is Lucifer's eyes. How hurt, how devastated they were.  
“Well you should apologize. Belated apologies are just fine. Sometimes even better than proper time apologies.” Where her daughter got her eternal optimism from, she will never know. It must be a Trixie-thing exclusively.  
“How so babe?”  
“Well because it means that you keep thinking about the other person and what happened between you. And you don't let yourself forget your mistakes. And you apologize.”  
“You are right baby. So right.” She pulls her onto her lap. She barely fits there now. She has grown so tall in these past few months.  
“And you know what? After a while I didn't find him so scary. But he did make me sad.”  
“Why?”  
“Because once the fear passed all I could see was his pain. His skin...” She can't bear to tell Trixie what he actually looked like. What he made himself look like. She can’t. “He had burns monkey. Burns everywhere on his skin. I can't imagine how much he must have suffered.”  
“That sounds awful. And scary. Definitely scarier than Maze. She won't like that,” she says pensive.  
“I’m sorry if I scared you monkey.”  
“No, Mom I’m okay. Thank you for telling me.”  
“Ditto Trixie-babe. Ditto.” Chloe pulls her back into her arms. She kisses her forehead and caresses dark curls that no longer belong to a child.  
“Do you miss him a lot?” Trixie asks, her words leaving a warm trail on her neck.  
“I do baby. I do.” A few tears escape her eyes.  
“I bet he will come back. For you. If you ask him to.”  
“Ask him to?”  
“Yeah. Maze said that you pray to him. I did too. I told him that you are better but just really sad cause you miss him a lot.”  
“Okay. Okay. Thank you for that baby. Can I get another hug? Like a really, really tight one please?”  
“You sure can!” Trixie squeezes with all her strength, and it's a lot-enough to make Chloe gasp for a moment. Satisfied, she pulls away and kisses her on both cheeks.  
“I’ll go brush my teeth,” she says and she’s off; as if they weren't just talking about the actual devil and his demon. What has her life turned into?  
  


_A bloody celestial melodrama Detective_ , she hears Lucifer offer in her head.

“But the stupid protagonist is missing,” she whispers to no one but herself and turns off the TV, the film long forgotten. She is glad Maze is out of town bounty-hunting. She is going to need that distance to avoid shooting her daughter’s best friend.

She tucks Trixie into bed and kisses her soundly before saying goodnight. Then she’s off to her bedroom.

Her nighttime ritual awaits her.

_Lucifer,_

_One day you will meet someone, who will see the universe that was knitted into your bones, and the embers of galaxies glow to life in your eyes. And you will finally know what love is supposed to feel like._

_I love you_

_I am sorry. So sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first poem is by W.B.Yeats "WHERE MY BOOKS GO"  
> and the second by Nikita Gill "What does love feel like?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk with Linda leads to more revelations while Chloe's confrontation with Maze that takes an unexpected turn

Her talk with Trixie is haunting her. The more she thinks about it the more certain she is that has missed out a lot of… important supernatural happenings. Maze won’t be back for a few days and she’s going slightly crazy with the idea of waiting. She texts Linda.

_I need to see you._ _  
Okay. Are you alright?  
No. We need to talk. But you will have to bend your work ethic.  
Um........  
I have questions that demand answers. And I am angry._

_Maybe very angry._

_Maybe even furious._ _  
Okay. Tomorrow at 4- my office?  
Deal.  
See you then._ _  
  
_

It’s five to four when Chloe arrives at Linda’s office. She thinks of the first time she had been here with that insufferable man. She remembers how dickish he sounded. How arrogant. Now, well… Now his whole attitude and Linda’s reaction make much more sense.  
 _And why I am so magnetic.  
_ She knocks on the door before pushing it open. Linda is on her desk typing away on her computer.

"Chloe welcome. Have a seat".

She looks around. Unwillingly she takes a seat on the sofa. She’s not here to be therapized. Well, not now anyway. She can't be sure about the future though.  
She’s here for answers.  
Linda abandons her desk and comes to sit in her armchair across the sofa.

“Chloe you need to understand that I can’t betr—“

“Linda I am going to stop you right there. Because things have happened-many things, _important things_ ,” her voice is gradually rising, “that I’ve had no clue about. I have been in the dark for too long. And I don't want to know about your private sessions or what he said about me... But so much has happened that concerns _me_ and I don't know shit about it!"

“Alright. I understand you are feeling angry but truly Chloe it was out of my hands or anyone's really.”

“Linda even my daughter knows more!” She jumps to her feet as if electrocuted. “My daughter! You know what I found out the other day?” She starts pacing around nervously and just _so_ in over her head.

“What?” Linda remains calm and collected. _Not for long_ , Chloe thinks.

“Trixie saw Maze’s face years ago.” Linda tries to maintain some of her professionalism but her eyes give her away. They go cartoonishly wide.  
“Years!” Her voice has obtained a rather shrill quality. “And Lucifer’s eyes too! She had seen them flash red. Yeah. Uh huh.”

“Okay. I can see how that might have upset you.”

“Might have Linda? _Might have?”_ Chloe may be yelling now.

“I understand your anger. As a mother you feel the need and the responsibility to control certain aspects of your child's life—“

“Linda things could have gone really bad. I don't know what Maze was thinking when she did it!”

“As we both well know she hardly thinks most of the time. But Chloe, things worked out- Beatrice wasn't traumatized. As far as I can tell she adores Maze and she was- is very fond of Lucifer. So what is this really about?”

“Oh, I don't know!” She was never good at sarcasm. “Maybe about the fact that my child has known that the people closest to us are not... are fundamentally different, for years now while I only found out a year ago. By accident! _By accident_ Linda.” She collapses back into the sofa. She feels so exhausted. So frustrated and disappointed. She looks back at Linda.

“Was he ever going to tell me? I think he tried to once but he couldn't? Linda I am so confused. There are so many things I should have asked him but instead I spent my time so absorbed in my fear and I made horrible mistakes and our relationship became so… stilted... that apparently I missed my chance.”

“Chloe these are not my stories to tell. What you are asking of me is very hard. He very deliberately chose not to share any of these... events. I would feel like I was violating his trust. He should tell you these things himself.”

“But he is not here, is he? And he probably won't return-at least that's what both Maze and Amenadiel think. And so what? I will never know about the things that happened? For someone who claimed he never lied _, (point of pride detective),_ he sure knew how to obfuscate.”

“Oh yes. Quite the expert! But, Chloe, never mind those two. What do you think?”

“I don't know,” she sighs and it's full of longing, full of pain. And then laughs in a vain effort to conceal her tears. She wipes them away hastily.  
“As long as we could be in danger I know he won't return. He wouldn't risk it.”

And… there she goes again. After her father’s death she didn’t think she would ever be able to produce so many tears again. They leave warm paths on her cheeks, tiny streams of salt water looking for the sea.

“But I want him to return,” she says between sniffles and takes the box of tissues from Linda. “I don't think I have ever wanted anything so much- for myself. But it's impossible. I know that. And since I can't have him _,_ I want these pieces of him, of us, that I didn't even know existed. I want to thank him. I want to apologize. But I need to know the facts.”  
She wipes away what she hopes are the last if her tears, for now at least. She doesn't like crying when negotiating. It makes her feel weak.

“So...you tried praying?” Linda asks, both intrigued and hopeful.

“Sort of.” She’s reluctant to share details; her readings feel too intimate.

“Good. Okay then. I believe I can do facts,” she concedes and settles back.

“That's all I want,” Chloe says relieved.

“Ask away.”

“Um, okay. When Malcolm shot him... Did he-?”

“Die? Yes he did.” She feels the first knot twisting into place in the pit of her stomach.

“So, how...? I mean if I make him vulnerable how-how did he come back?”

“He made a deal with his father. And he was sent back.” Linda is so creepily calm. She must have had a lot of practice. In a strange way, Chloe envies her.

“His father, as in God?” _Oh… gosh._

“Yes. Are you sure you want to have this conversation?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. What did the deal involve?”

“That I do not want to reveal. You should ask him.” That doesn’t sound good.

“Okay. I can deal with this kind of censoring.” She laughs a little. “Now I know why he was carrying that flask around. I wouldn't say no to a drink right now.”

“Well, believe it or not he mostly drank water during our sessions,” Linda says with a fond smile.

“Pftt. No way!”

“Really he did!”

  
“What about when I was poisoned?” This is something that has been nagging her for ages. “The formula supposedly existed only in Carlisle’s head. How did Lucifer get it? He said it was a team effort but he had Amenadiel guard me?”

“Oh boy. That one was rather complicated. You see without his wings Lucifer couldn't travel between the different....planes? But you made him vulnerable so...” Linda gives her a meaningful look, as if waiting for her to get a complicated joke but Chloe has no idea what the punch line is. She clenches her fists to hide the slight trembling, suddenly very apprehensive of what she might be told.

“So... What?” she prompts Linda, running out of patience.

“Um well, Lucifer killed himself using a defibrillator, got to hell, found Carlisle and extracted the formula.” Chloe doesn't interrupt even if the sheer impossibility of what she is hearing is driving her literally mad. “And then I brought him back using the defibrillator again. Well, almost. He was sort of stuck and his mum—“

“ _He got stuck??? And… his mum_?” Now Chloe can finally understand the expression _her blood turned to ice_. Her mind is incapable of providing anything other than a litany of _no, no, no, no, no._

“Maybe I should have left that bit out. Never mind. Point is—“

“He died twice to save my life.”

_I hope no one ever loves me that much._

She feels frozen to her very core. One tap and she will shatter into a million tiny pieces, sharpened and honed by insurmountable regret.

“Me. A nobody.”

“Not to him Chloe.”  
  


_Were you trying to manipulate me? Is this all to make me care about you more?_ _  
  
_

Such horrible accusations when all he ever tried to do was keep her safe.  
She stays silent for some time, contemplating. Linda lets her. The silence is not exactly uncomfortable but it's heavy with guilt and remorse.  
  


“Linda, why didn't you say something to me that night? I made so many bad decisions- maybe if I knew, if I had told him—“ she cuts herself off, not knowing what to say next. She is feeling utterly overwhelmed.

“Chloe,” Linda’s voice grounds her, keeping her from spiraling any further into despair.

“You do not hold exclusive rights to bad decision making. Lucifer has made a lot of bad decisions, trust me. But he wouldn't approve of me telling you then and well quite frankly he wouldn’t approve of this as well. He didn't do any of these to gain your approval or your acceptance. He wanted that to be your own decision -a choice unaffected by any actions of his own. He would never want you to feel indebted to him in any way.”  
Chloe bites the inside of her cheek. She welcomes the pain.

She more than deserves it.

“Is there anything else I should know about?”

“I-I don't think so. Um, no.” Linda squirms in her seat a bit. Looks away momentarily. The detective knows a lie when she sees one.

“Linda?” She sing songs.

“Hmmm? Yes dear?” she says, still not quite looking at her.

“Cop, remember? Spill.”

“Well, this doesn't strictly concern you and… Chloe, I _can't_. It's too private and a very sore subject for Lucifer.”

She thinks back to their shared time together. Besides that sleepless week-which again in retrospect makes so much sense- there was only one other time that she was deeply worried about him. She follows her gut.

“Is it by any chance connected to my car crash?”

Linda’s eyes widen just a fraction and her lips turn into a thin line. Bingo.

“Yes.” She has turned monosyllabic. Lovely.

“He was feeling horribly guilty for something. So much that he was actually begging a sniper to shoot him. To punish him. Was that... Was it because of me?” Her voice is trembling again and she doesn’t think she can take any more guilt.

“Oh, Chloe. It wasn't your fault if that's what you’re thinking. I don't know if he did ever say the actual words, but Chloe... Lucifer cares for you deeply. And whenever your life was in danger he did everything in his power to protect you. No matter the personal cost, frankly.”

“You are not going to tell me, are you?”

“I can't. I’m sorry.” Looks like the doctor is done.

“It's alright. I don't like it but I understand.” She could ask Maze. She will probably know. But she’s mad at her and honestly? She’s afraid of what she will hear. **  
**

“I am glad. That you have been praying. You need an outlet for all these unvoiced emotions.”

“It has helped somewhat. Even if I don't know if he can really hear me and there can never be an answer. Still, it gives me some comfort.”

“If there is one person he would be open to listening that would be you Chloe. And knowing that he is still important to you, that you... care for him still, I believe it means the world to him.”  
She can't help the sad smile that pulls at her lips.

“I hope it's some sort of comfort for him, too. Thank you Linda. I know it wasn't easy for you. So thank you.”

“You are welcome Chloe. I wish I could help you more but I wouldn't want to betray his confidence. Well any more than I already have,” she laughs nervously.

“Okay. Well, have a good night and we’ll talk soon?”

“Of course, yes.” Chloe stands and smoothes out her jeans. As she turns to leave she feels Linda’s hand on her shoulder.

“Just… Don’t forget to take care of yourself alright? If this turns into obsessive self-flagellation… Promise me you’ll stop, please? He _wants_ you to be happy Chloe.” She squeezes her eyes shut, _no more tears dammit,_ and nods brokenly.

“Thanks Linda.”

“Anytime Chloe. Tribe, remember?”

“Yeah, yes. Okay. I have to go.”

That night she tries to heed Linda’s advice and lets go of her guilt and surrenders to the softness of him. Having fallen once, he made himself into her safety net, ready to catch her even when she didn’t know she was falling.

Her dreamcatcher, feathers brushing softly against her skin, catching all her nightmares; always making sure she was safe.

_Lucifer,_

_Some people are like beautiful dreamcatchers, absorbing the most terrible things for those they love and leaving them only the softest, gentlest thoughts behind._

_Thank you_

A breath, a smile, a few tears. His face is all she can see.

_I love you_

Ten days pass from the Trixie Reveal till Maze's return. It has been enough time that her anger has dimmed somewhat but quite frankly it's mostly because she has been preoccupied with all the Linda Revelations.  
  


She and Trixie go to pick her up from the airport. Trixie is buzzing with excitement and runs ahead to the arrivals. She knows when she has spotted Maze from her squeal of joy and now targeted weaving through other passengers. When she catches up with them Maze is already regaling Trixie with details of her bounty hunting adventure.

"Hey Decker," she says and hugs her. She squeezes back. "Thanks for coming. The flight was hellish. And not in a fun way!

"Just... Let's go home, ok?" Maze gives her a funny look but follows after her and as per Trixie’s request she continues with her story.  
  


The more time they spend in the same space together the more agitated Chloe gets. She is mad. She is raging for a fight. It takes immense effort to keep herself composed while Trixie is present. Once she goes to bed Chloe decides to wait a while longer, to make sure that she is asleep. But Maze beats her to it. She slams two glasses on the counter, fills them with whiskey and glares defiantly.

"Spit it out Decker," she says and downs the contents of the first glass. "You've waited long enough!"

"Fine. _Fine_! I am so mad at you!"

"Surprise, surprise! What did big bad Maze do now?"

"Drop the attitude Maze. I had a talk with Trixie. She let it slip out that you showed her your… _other_ face. _Years_ ago." She can see the fear and hurt on the demon’s face before she slips her mask on. She wears her sneer as well as her tight leather pants but she can no longer fool Chloe. She takes the second glass and throws that back too.

“Is that what the fuss is all about? You’re a little too late Decker. And besides, she took it like a champ!" She leaves for her bedroom and Chloe follows suit. She is far from done.

"This is what you have to say to me? Do have any idea how lucky you were?" She asks beyond exasperated and closes her door. She has a feeling this is only going to get louder.

"Oh, piss off Decker. You’re just fucking jealous that your kid was far braver and smarter than you!" Chloe doesn’t want to think about just how true that statement is. But, that’s not the reason she is mad. Maze grabs one of her leather jackets and heads for the door. Chloe stands guard in front of her door.

"No, Maze. You don't get to walk away from this. We will talk."

"Look Decker I’m horny and cranky so unless you want a good hard fuck I am out of here."

"This whole performance might have intimidated me in the past but not anymore. How _could_ you Maze? She was but a child," she speaks slowly, her voice hushed, her insides trembling at the horrid possibilities. For a moment her mask slips but then her eyes harden and she spits like poison the only words that can hurt this moment.

"You think I cared what would happen to your brat? I m a de—“ Chloe hardens herself because she knows that this is her defense mechanism.

"Oh please! Save all the demon bullshit. You adore her. And you were infatuated with her even then. But I want you to understand that you need to be more careful with Trix. Please Maze. I need you to understand why it was wrong. I _need_ you to examine the possible repercussions of your actions before you act them out. At least as far as my child is concerned."

"So what do you want from me Decker? An apology? Well you’re not getting any because I’m not sorry. I wanted to show her. I wanted her to know. I wanted..." She started angry but now Maze, torturer of hell, is actually on the verge of tears.

"You can tell me Maze," Chloe says as comfortingly as she can and reaches for her hand. Maze flinches back from her touch, disgusted by the both of them and actually growls. It makes the hairs on Chloe's arms stand on end.

"Now look what you’ve done! And I thought I had gotten the hang of these _emotions_. I hate this." Chloe slumps against the door and gives a humorless laugh.

“Welcome to the club Mazie.”

“Fuck you Decker.”

They stare at each other, both unrepentant.

"I wanted her to accept me. An adult would never have... And it was Halloween. I made it sound as if it were a mask. I didn't want to frighten her.”

“I know that wasn't your intention. But please tell me that you at least understand why it was wrong.”  
She nods jerkily.

“You can show me you know. I mean I know we reacted poorly that night but I think it would have been too much for Ella.”

“Maybe. And I don't want no favors Chloe.”

“I _am_ curious. Trixie said it was very cool.”

“She did huh?”

“Oh yeah.” She waits for a few moments. “Are you afraid?” she asks disbelieving.

“Me? Afraid? Just don't scream Decker.”

There is no discernable moment of change. One moment her skin is unblemished caramel and the next it’s...not. At once her feet carry her closer, spellbound. Maze takes a few steps back, surprised, but stops when her back hits her wardrobe. Chloe's fingers reach out but stop, just shy of touching.

“May I?” She asks. Maze is too dumbfounded to do anything but nod.

“Does it hurt?” Her touch is feather soft, gliding over rotting muscle and tendons and cracked bone. Her eye is milky white and stares unknowably at her.

“No,” she whispers.

“You are eerily fascinating.”

“I thought you'd be running for the hills by now Decker.”

“I am a smart girl Maze. I learn from my mistakes.”

“Okay.” Her face changes back. “Okay. I understand. I was just ...desperate for a friend. Even a mini sized one.”

“There is no need for despair anymore,” Chloe says and hugs her. Maze lets her. She is just about to close the door when she realizes what she forgot.

"Maze, how do you know that I’ve been... praying?"

"Pfff Chloe, really? You need to find a better hiding place. The mattress cover? You sorely lack imagination."

“Do you... Do you think he’s listening?"

“Oh he’s listening. He’s straining those angel ears of his, alright.”

“Okay. Goodnight Maze.”

“Night Chloe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is by Nikita Gill, "Dreamcatcher"❤


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poems, poems, so many poems...  
> Chloe is so in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite part-a lot of poems people!  
> Also, one of the Neruda translations was provided by the amazing @ObliObla

More days come and go. And life does go on.

Chloe was never religious so she had never really comprehended people's piousness and devotedness concerning praying. She does now. Besides Trixie, there is now one revered constant in her life; her prayers to the Devil. Every night she bares her soul borrowing the words of others, finding a modicum of relief in the idea that she is heard, that she is not alone in this interdimensional love courting. Even if in all practicality she is. But she finds she doesn't really mind.

For she has found faith in a hopeless affair; the same way men and women push their hands together with blind conviction to speak to God, she pushes her hands under her chin to let the Devil know that he is missed, he is loved, he is desired.  
To make him see that his return is imperative.  
  


Inexplicably, her spirits lift, bit by bit, and her days become a tapestry of familial love, duty and heartache and under everything a thread of hope so fragile that she dares not admit it to herself.  
  


Is hopefulness inherent to praying? She wouldn't know. But it's there, making her nights longer, both sweeter and sadder and sometimes frustratingly sexier.  
  


_Lucifer,_

_I love thee with a love that shall not die, till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old._

_Lucifer,_

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…_

She thinks of him obsessively. She tries to catalogue every little detail of him-the exact shape of his eyes, the beautiful curves of his lips, his expertly groomed beard, the freckles scattered like little stars on his skin. She wants to kiss them. She wants to lick them. She thinks of his naked body-all lean lines and defined muscle-how could she not look? She buzzes with desire, with want. She swallows it all and sends him her love letters, like some heroine in a Victorian novel, only allowed to love and want from afar.

_Lucifer,_

_The moon lives inside your eyes tonight, and god let me just say, as I pull away from you and take you in, your freckles are making the most incredible stars._

_Lucifer,_

_….the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses…._

_Lucifer,_

_My words rained over you, stroking you. A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. I go as far as to think that you own the universe. I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses._

_I want to do with you what spring does to the cherry trees._

  
Sometimes she dreams of the red winged Devil and of guilt. She puzzles over a loving father who abandons his child for millennia; who allows his son to burden himself with the sins of the vilest of human creatures that, in the end, all he can see of himself is the monster others shaped of him.  
  


She thinks of Frankenstein and his monster and that unfathomable loneliness and she wishes she had known sooner, had overcome her fear faster, that she could have loved him better. She finds comfort in her memories and the knowledge that she had helped him shed some of that guilt-at least enough to find some piece of himself again. She knows he is not perfect-but who is? Definitely not she- but he must know that she will never ever fear the monster again. Even if that was all she ever got, she would welcome him with open arms.  
  


_Lucifer,_

_You must stop the haunting thinking that you are not enough for me. You spend so much time being exhausted with yourself that you truly forget nothing can ever steal away the way in which **I love you**. I love you without rewards, without reasons and without days: For in my eyes the clocks sleep and the seconds dream every moment your hand is curled around mine._

Other times heartsickness is overthrown and desire rules, merciless and exacting. She wants him with an intensity that is alien to her heart, to her body; a desire that leaves her starving, a hunger that cannot be sated. She tells him so.  
  


_Lucifer,_

_I hunger for your mouth, your voice, your hair and through the streets I stalk unnourished, quiet; bread does not sustain me, the sunrise maddens me, I search for the liquid sound of your feet in the day._

_I’m starving for your laughter that slips out, for your hands, color of the furious fields, I hunger for the pale stone of your nails, I want to eat your skin like a whole almond._

_I want to eat the ray burned in your beauty, the sovereign nose of your arrogant face, I want to eat the fleeting shadow of your lashes._

_And, hungry, I come and sniff the twilight searching for you, hunting for your hot heart like a puma in the loneliness of Quitratue._

_  
_And she drifts off desirous, her blood hot, pumping to the rhythm of his name.

He kisses her and it's so damningly good. Gone are the tentative kisses of their past- this is all passion and fire. He is here, under her fingers, solid and real and so very tall. She stretches on the tips of her toes and he’s still leaning all the way down to kiss her-she almost feels bad-not bad enough to stop, though. One of his hands is wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to him, making her arch her back like some horny cat, and the other is holding a fistful of hair tilting her head up. The water is hot but his skin feels hotter and she plasters herself to him, leaving nothing between their bodies. When his lips pull away from her mouth, a pathetic little whine leaves her lips.

"Sshhh," he whispers on her jaw as he kisses lower and lower. Her hands fist in his hair and her cheeks burn hotter and hotter the lower his kisses go. Oh, how she wants this. She has waited _too_ long for it. And then he’s right there, his breath hot on her sex and she dares not look down- she feels she might combust, a small blinding supernova, her core heavy with lust and desire. His kisses are sweet and tentative at first, and they make her insides tighten and beg for more. And then he pulls one of her legs over his shoulders and goes properly down on her. His lips suck and lick at her labia, his tongue circles her clit and she groans, a deep, trembling sound that makes him pull her closer. She gets lost in this glorious pleasure until his lips grow more insistent, his fingers push slowly inside her and she can feel his nose- that long, straight nose that could only ever look good on his smug face- pressing against her clit and she’s almost there and her eyes cut down to him and he looks up and they are _flaming red_ and—

She jolts awake, her whole body trembling still from her almost orgasm, and she lets a frustrated and desperate groan into her pillow. Funny how the things that used to terrify her haunt her dreams in ways she never thought possible.  
  


Instead of giving in to the ever-present pain of his absence and crying into her pillow about all that wasted time, she decides to give in to her baser instincts. It’s hardly the first time she has touched herself with that impossible man on her mind. But it has been a while since she allowed herself to feel any sort of pleasure. She imagines he wouldn’t really mind.

She focuses on her dream again (it is still sharp and pulsing in her mind in a way that dreams rarely ever are), on the way his lips and hands felt and that slow burn low in her womb turns hotter and hotter as her fingers move faster, mimicking as well as they can his lips and fingers. She thinks of those eyes flashing red in those heated moments and she comes with a silent moan that sends vibrations throughout her entire body. For once, she doesn’t give a damn if Maze heard her.

Oh, but how it hurts to want someone that much; it’s a hollow sort of ache, so her desire echoes back and forth, only growing in intensity, always unsatisfied. While she’s still riding the high of her orgasm, she searches her mind for the words she wants to say. She wants him to know that this is by no means a platonic sort of love. She craves for his hands, his lips, his voice. For all of him.

He would be the gift of water to the parched planes of her body. The warm spring sun, coaxing her buds into full bloom. So, she sends the words to him with as much passion as she can muster-powerless to keep thoughts of her dream out of her thoughts as she does.

_Lucifer,_

_I don’t just want your heart. I want your flesh, your skin and blood, and bones, your voice, your thoughts, your pulse, and most of all your fingerprints, everywhere._

She checks her alarm clock. A quarter to six. Earlier than she would have liked but she will have to make do. Even without his perfect coffee and delicious lemon squares. Even without _him_.

She finds murderers. She plays Scrabble. She drinks his favourite whiskey.

And she wants and wants and wants.

All those things that she _knows_ she can never have.

Late nights with tangled limbs and fused heartbeats; lazy mornings with heated kisses and fancy breakfasts in her kitchen. She feels like she has been locked away in a cage intricately woven by her desires. She wants without knowing if there is an ending to her suffering. For it is suffering; this yearning for things that are completely out of her reach. Maybe there is sweetness to be found in his remembered smiles and soft looks but mostly it is overwhelming sadness and grief that fill her heart.

She longs to know what it would have been like, to be loved by him. Openly, with no reservations or fear. But, she won’t.

Still, it’s all she ever dreams about.

She tells him so.

_Dear Lucifer,_

_There is a love I reminisce, like a seed I’ve never sown. Of lips that I am yet to kiss, and eyes not met my own. Hands that wrap around my wrists, and arms that feel like home. I wonder how it is I miss these things I’ve never known._

She tells him of herself; of a lonely caged bird that sings so sweetly of a freedom it has never truly tasted, only ever dreamt.

_Can you hear me?_ She dares to think at the end. _Can you hear my song?_

Some nights, more often than she should, her misdeeds is all she can focus on. Like tonight. As she lies alone in her bed, her mind restless, plagued by thoughts of guilt, she thinks of him. Not of his swagger, his charming smiles and expensive suits. Nor of his mischievous eyes, made even more captivating by the dark lines painted expertly on them. She thinks of looks of quiet surprise, eyes dark and pained, starving for acceptance. For affection. And because she enjoys tormenting herself more, she thinks of their kisses.

She remembers the soft cresting of the waves, his self-deprecating words that broke her heart, and his surprise (she could even taste it on his lips).

She remembers that terribly honest confession and how those dark eyes had never been more vulnerable. (She doesn't want to think about her words. That is a chapter in the book of her horrible mistakes, an ugly, appalling thing that she doesn't allow in the same space as his kisses.)  
  


She leaves the softest, the most heart breaking one for the end.  
The one that had more pain in it than any kiss ought to have. That was the ending to a barely there beginning. She remembers how soft his lips felt, how warm his hands were while cradling her jaw. She remembers how his nose felt pressed against her skin; the wetness in his eyes. It was a moment steeped in pain yet in her mind it's one of her most precious memories.  
She misses him. Agonizingly so.  
  


_Lucifer,_

_Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell._

And when she gives in to her despair it is hard to pull herself out. But she does. For Trixie’s sake who always somehow knows. Her monkey can always tell, no matter the effort she throws into her pretending. Unsurprisingly, when she does pull herself out, she finds her heart filled with bitterness and discontent.

_Lucifer,_

_The saddest world in the whole wide world is almost. He was almost in love. She was almost good for him. He almost stopped her. She almost waited. He almost lived._

_They almost made it._

And then by some miracle she grows soft and hopeful again. Round and round she dances with herself in a vicious cycle, the only constant an obscene longing that saturates her days and nights.

_Lucifer,_

_I like my body when it is with your_ _body. It is so quite new a thing.  
Muscles better and nerves more. I like your body. I like what it does,  
I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
-firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again  
kiss, I like kissing this and that of you, I like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz  
of your electric furr, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh…._

_And eyes big love-crumbs,_ _and possibly I like the thrill  
of under me you so quite new._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the following poems were used by Chloe  
> 1\. A quote from Bayard Taylor's 'Beduin Song'  
> 2\. 'How do I love thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning  
> 3\. Poem by Christopher Poindexter  
> 4\. 'Somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond' by E.E Cummings  
> 5\. 'Every Day you play' by Pablo Neruda (excerpt)  
> 6\. Poem by Christipher Poindexter  
> 7\. Love sonnet XI by Pablo Neruda (TRANSLATION PROVIDED BY THE SUPER TALENTED @ ObliObla -Thank you!!!!)  
> 8\. 'I don't just want your heart' by Isobel Thrilling  
> 9\. 'A Stranger' by Lang Leav  
> 10\. Implied the 'Caged Bird' by Maya Angelou  
> 11\. A quote bu Edna St. Vincent Millay  
> 12\. 'Tiny Stories' by Nikita Gill  
> 13\. 'I like my body' by E.E Cummings
> 
> Well, 13 is my favourite number!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much wine leads to more personal confessions. Was Trixie right after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, you will find this short and sweet :)

Trixie is with her father and Maze is out somewhere. She thinks she might have mentioned it but she has had too much wine and can’t remember. And not the expensive kind he used to bring her. The cheap one he used to snub. But he’s not here; it’s just her, drinking alone staring at the moon. It’s so pretty and she feels so horribly lonely. She wants to hear his voice so much. To feel his skin under her fingertips. What is she supposed to do if she _can’t_ have him and doesn’t want to have others? This is all just so _unfair._ Trixie’s words dance around in her drunken mind and for once she is not afraid to speak to him. To tell him in her own words what it is that she truly desires. Her cheap wine offers all the courage she could want and she pushes her hands under the chin and sends him her thoughts with her eyes glued to the moon.

_Hi._

_Just me tonight. No poem. I have been going on and on these months without really knowing if my words fall into the void or if they actually reach you. I can't stand the thought of you all alone in that place._ _  
_ _Τ_ _he moon hangs like a pale orange slice in the sky tonight. It’s breathtaking._

_I wish you were somewhere you could see it too, even if we were still apart. Instead of that awful place…_

_I am no good with words. Not the way you are. I just know that I miss you…_

_Terribly so._ _  
I’m sorry. I am so sorry…_

_I wish I could have controlled my fear. That terror. It seems so incomprehensible now, so silly._

_That I was once afraid of you. Of you, who have done nothing but protect me._

She thinks of bloodied feathers. She thinks of Malcolm shooting him and that awful pool of blood _._

_Linda told me. Twice._

Look who’s back. You didn’t die after all. That makes one of us.

_Twice you went back to that awful place for me. For me. And who am I? What am I but a grain of sand in the bottom of the sea? A nobody._

She remembers that evening at the beach, his reasonable speech about deserving, her overpowering desire. _  
  
_

_I love you. I love you so much. Not despite what you are. No... I love you for everything that you are. The beautiful and the ugly. The kind and the cruel._

_I love you._

_I love you. I feel like I can't say it enough. Everyone thinks that I ought to let you go. Because it hurts…_

_It hurts so much Lucifer. A part of me wishes that I could. But I am unable to. You’ve wound yourself so tightly around my heart that it would feel like ripping it out on my own...._

_I want you back so much._

_I miss you. I want you. I love you._ _  
...I can live without you but my life feels so empty, so bland, so lacking without you in it…_

_So, I don't want to. I don't._

_Even if I must._

The next morning she wakes up with a terrible headache, courtesy of the too many glasses of her lovely cheap wine. She stays in bed, ignoring momentarily all the chores that await her and thinks of him. She remembers fragments of what she said last night. In a way she is happy she tore down that self-imposed barrier. But in the stark morning light her insecurities return, so she pulls out her notepad and tells him the only truth left to say.

He has become part of her, living under the skin, the very stardust of her human biology; ever present, a delight and torment at the same time.

She is his and he is hers, whether they like it or not.

_Lucifer,_

_I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart, I am never without it, anywhere_

_I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling._

_I fear no fate, for you are my fate, my sweet, I want no world, for beautiful you are my world, my true, and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you._

_Here is the deepest secret nobody knows, here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide, and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart_

_I carry your heart, I carry it in my heart._

More days, more games, more poems, more whiskey. And work, of course. No rest for the wicked, and all.

_What a day_ , Chloe thinks sullenly to herself.

She feels bone achingly tired and carries an emotional exhaustion that stretches far beyond the horrors she encounters at the different, but never dwindling, crime scenes. All she wants is Trixie’s hug and a really long, really hot shower. She parks the car, and walks slowly to the apartment, pulling her hair out of the tight ponytail and running her fingers through the strands, scratching her scalp a little as she goes. Twilight paints the sky a beautiful blue-lavender and there are no stars visible yet; everything feels drenched with his essence that it’s impossible not to think of him- every moment of every day. She pulls open the door and instantly her eyes are drawn to the pop of colour on the sofa. She turns, closes the door and bangs her head softly against it.

_Lovely_ , she thinks and the voice sounds remarkably like Lucifer’s.

“Decker?” Maze says, but all Chloe can think is, _This is it. My last shreds of sanity, gone forever._ Because there, on her sofa, the Devil sits in the bluest suit she has ever seen. She laughs, a sound torn between amusement and fear.

“You know what? I think I’ll just make that appointment with Linda after all,” she says aloud, mostly to herself.

“Tough luck, Detective,” his voice says serious and teasing all at once. Something wakes up inside her. “I am afraid the good doctor is booked solid for the next month. By the Devil, of course.”

She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes, still facing the door. If she turns and there is no one but Trixie and Maze on that sofa she might be in dire need of medication. Screw _might_. Definitely. But if she turns and he is here, right here in the flesh, she—

“Chloe, I—“ he says, no teasing this time, only hesitance and fear, “I could leave if-“, his voice is so close and it takes no conscious thought to turn around and come face to face with the Devil himself.

Tears, so many tears stream down her face and it’s silly really, because they are making his face a blurry mess. She wipes them away gracelessly and stares.

And _stares._

His eyes are so soft and dark and just _his_ that a new wave of tears follows. His hands move slowly to her face, giving her ample time to pull away should she so desire, and wipe away tenderly the fresh tears. And he looks into her eyes as if he would willingly drown in their depths. There is complete silence around them, which is very odd considering their audience, and it feels all the more like a dream. When he speaks, his voice is soft and deep as his eyes, all only for her.

“For whatever we lose, like a you or a me,” his fingers move slowly over her face, remapping it, “it’s always our self we find in the sea.”

Her hands find the lapels of his jacket and pull him to her. He goes willingly, with bright eyes and a soft smile. Maybe she should ask him, _How long until my heart breaks again_? Because right now, just by the grace of his presence she feels whole—

But then his lips are there on her own, not pushing or demanding, but simply melting into her own, and she can taste both heaven and hell on his lips, stardust and sulfur and she wants it all, anything and everything he can give her.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years, _entire lifetimes_ -she wants it all with a desperate kind of craving, a naked sort of hunger.

There is both cheering and catcalling in the background, and maybe this is real? Her hands, already on his face, touch skin and rough stubble that feel real. An archangel and the devil, hanging onto her lips. He breaks off the kiss and pulls back just enough to look at her. She blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“That was Cummings, you know. Don’t try to sell it off as your own.” His answering smile is blinding and she knows it’s true-that it was he who put the stars in the sky.

“I wouldn’t dream of it Detective! Not with a poetry connoisseur as yourself!”

“Oh, shut up!” she says, hiding a smile under her scrunched up nose and hitting him on his chest. His very solid, very real chest.

“Though, I must confess I am dying to know how this fixation with Mr. _Cumming—“_

Really, she should have realized by now that the most effective way to shut him up is by kissing him. It’s mostly chaste like all their kisses have been and she can feel his breath on her lips and she wants more. And more and more. But Trixie and Maze are here and she has questions, so many questions.

But one stands apart.

“Are you—“ she stutters, feeling her eyes going wet again, and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t look away, his dark eyes brimming with unnamed emotions. She tries again. “Are you… staying?”

“Is that something you… desire?” His voice lacks the usual luster and innuendo that accompanies this word; it is uttered instead with such self-doubt and fear that breaks her heart. She shakes her head in denial because how can he still doubt her? She starts talking before he misunderstands her.

“You either have a really, _really_ thick skull or you just really enjoy hearing me say it. Lucifer, _I love you_ ,” she says and squeezes his hands. “Please, stay. Stay and give this a chance.”

“You think we’re ready Detective? It’s only ever been five long years!”

“Well, I’ll give you a date if you come back to work with me,” she offers playfully.

“That’s a deal Detective!” he exclaims gleefully.

“But there are two conditions.”

“Oh well, some things never change, do they?” he sighs exaggeratedly. “Let’s hear them then.”

“Well, you have to promise to never, _ever_ follow protocol…” his eyes shine like stars and his smile is the sun itself, “…and to always bring me coffee.”

“Oh, you have yourself a deal Detective!” he crows excitedly and leans in to kiss her. It starts soft but grows intense and her body trembles under his hands. He pulls away and looks at her. And in his eyes she finds everything she has ever dreamt of and _more_. His hands cradle her face tenderly as if she is the most precious thing in his world.

Maybe she is.

“Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born. You are my sun, my moon and all my stars.”

“Cum—“ she tries to say with a smile but his lips are kissing her, effectively shutting her up.

_She loves it_ , she loves _him_ and she wants more and more and _more_. She wants everything.

And right now she has it.

She does _._

_The end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was self indulgent 😅  
> And an exercise in self-confidence I guess!
> 
> All the poems belong to the brilliant E.E Cummings who I absolutely adore!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the story comes from Kiki Dimoula's poem "The plural"
> 
> Love  
> noun common  
> but substantive  
> in singular.  
> Gender  
> neither masculine nor feminine,  
> gender defenseless.  
> In plural  
> defenseless loves.
> 
> Fear  
> common noun  
> in the beginning in singular  
> and then in plural:  
> Fears  
> The fears  
> of everything  
> from now on
> 
> Memory  
> proper noun of sorrows,  
> in singular  
> only in singular  
> and indeclinable.  
> Memory, memory, memory.
> 
> Night  
> common noun,  
> gender feminine,  
> in singular.  
> In plural  
> nights.  
> The nights from now on.


End file.
